Well, whatever
by Happymood
Summary: It was a difficult thing for Romano to get past that "I" in that three word phrase he so desperately wanted to tell Spain, and it was even worse when the whole world seemed to know what exactly Romano was going through! Spamano R&R Oneshot.


**A.N. This is what happens when the song "I won't say I'm in love" from Hercules sticks in your head for awfully long periods of time. Yeah. I'm unoriginal just like that. XD I hope you'll enjoy!**

"I… I…"

Damn. He always stuck to the first word of the phrase, and the worst fact was that it wasn't even a really long phrase! They just were three fucking words! How hard could it be?!

"What it is, Lovino?" Spain asked, bright, handsome and oblivious as ever. Romano stared at him, long, hard and scrutinizing. If he jumped to the last word? Would the idiot get it?

"I… you…"

"We?"

Of course not. How stupid of Romano to even hope. Why would Spain need to know, anyway?

"Never mind, bastard!" Lovino shouted in the end, ten shades of red and pouting for all it was worth. "Keep being an idiot and let me be!"

Spain smiled. He always smiled, and Lovino sometimes wondered if Spain paid attention to him at all. He probably flied to la-la-land every time Lovino approached him, thinking about flying tomatoes when in reality he should listen very carefully to what Romano oh-so-desperately tried to tell him.

How many times had he tried to utter that ridiculous word? Romano thought about it for a moment, and suddenly remembered he had been trying for a really long period of time.

Three hundred years to be exact. Plus five months. Plus 6 days (and with today they were seven). Thanks a bunch, immortality! Lovino really wondered if he had lost it. Why would Spain care, anyway? He asked himself once more. It wasn't like the bastard needed to know.

He hadn't when Lovino had tried to tell him when he still was a mini-nation, even if it was more a "I care for you" (four words, not three) than… whatever he had been trying to tell Spain since forever. When Spain had returned back from one Spain liked to call secret missions, because he thought it would be better for little Roma not to think about his boss a soldier who cut people's head off. Thank God those times are gone, really, and now it didn't matter anymore if Spain knew that Romano had been perfectly aware of what those "secret missions" really consisted. Not that he would ever crash Spain's perfect, made up memories down.

He hadn't when Lovino tried to tell him once more when he was ready to join his brother and unite their country under one, single flag. Spain had just smiled, told him good luck, as if he had expected this day to come since forever, and he didn't care if Romano would miss him or not. Just for the record, Romano didn't. Not even once. Not even that night when he realized how much Spain (did not) meant to him.

He hadn't so many times that Lovino lost count.

Lovino remembered very well when he realized that he… well, whatever… Spain. Spain had always been a handsome guy, at least to him. Those green eyes always dazzled him, that smile always made his stomach churn (in the worst way possible, of course), his slightly crooked noise (earned from a fight against France many years before), his soft lips, his calloused hands, that soft scent of tomatoes mixed with something that was purely Antonio, clean as the just out from the laundry clothes...

No. Enough. Man up, Romano, you are starting to sound like a girl.

Anyway.

His point was that when that happened, when he realized that all of the above, everything that had to do with Spain made Romano dizzy and sometimes happy, Lovino decided that he should just take his chances and tell Spain exactly what the older nation did to him.

(Sick in the stomach, that was what it was. He told himself after the millionth time.)

And of course he never achieved to do it. Not once. Not this time either:

"Spain?"

"Yes, Lovino?"

"I… I…", not again. "I… I…"

"Are you feeling sick? You look really pale…"

"I'm fine, bastard! I just wanted to tell you I want a fucking pizza for dinner!"

"Oh, okay. I'll take you out then."

"Don't put it like that! It's not a fucking date!", a moment of pause, "…is it?"

"A date? Are you dating someone?"

Headbutt.

After 300 years (plus five months and seven days, more or less), Lovino decided to give up. It became clear to him that Spain was the most idiot nation in the world. There was no way he'll get it and there was no way he will actually return his feelings. Spain had never shown any kind of attention to him. Yes, he did take him out sometimes. Yes, he did pay for Lovino's meal more than once (but it wasn't as he was offering. It was more because Lovino purposely left his wallet behind). Yes, Spain liked to give him gifts when it wasn't needed. Yes, they did share the bed more than once. Romano said _share. _

And yes, there was that time they passionately kissed on the couch (but Spain doesn't remember because he was drunk as hell. How cliché.).

To cut a long story short, Spain had always been Spain, Romano's boss, or Spain, Romano's only friend. Spain had never showed any signs of wanting to be Spain, Romano's lover. So that was why Lovino decided it should be better to zip it and pretend everything was all great and dandy and maybe start dating a girl…

(Until the day he will see Spain walking side by side with a really beautiful woman, or another, much more gorgeous that Lovino was, man, and Romano would start thinking of telling Antonio again and ending telling him how much a S-pain in the ass he was right then!)

Anyway, after the millionth try, Romano decided to give up and start his life over once more. He supposed a dish from spaghetti made from his brother wouldn't hurt so he made his way there. Little did he know that, by doing so, he would learn something extremely awful…

So he went to Feliciano:

"Tell him, Romano~" his brother told him, smiling brightly at him and putting a hand on Romano's shoulder, which, Romano supposed, was to be considered a reassuring gesture. "Everyone knows you have eyes for him only! It's about time you told him!"

"WHAT?"

"I said… Spain had every right to…"

"Not that! Everyone knows?"

"It's just a manner of speaking! Romano! Stop looking so murderous!"

"I'm not-!", sigh, "I won't tell him! It's no use! He doesn't need to and, well, I… err… whatever!"

"I'm sure Spain will…"

"Don't say he will understand and won't think I'm sick because I don't want to hear it!"

"Just tell him, Romano! And you'll see that…"

"NO!"

Slamming of doors.

So he suddenly bumped in France:

"Why are you scowling like that, mon cher?"

"Get away from me, psycho!"

"Oh, you are still angry because you haven't told Spain yet?"

"Told him _what_? Are you high?"

"Come on, love, everybody can see how sexually attracted you are…!"

So Romano run away to England:

"What brings you here?"

The other nation raised his impossibly big eyebrows at him, and Romano was glad England didn't look drunk at all. This time.

"Nothing. I just wanted to get away from fucking France."

"Did he try to have sex with you again?"

"No, but I wouldn't have minded cutting his throat again."

"That had been a fun day." England laughed and then said: "Do you need something to drink?"

"Hmph." (Yes, in Romano's language).

Even if he had the word "Irish" in it, England gladly made some Irish coffee for them both, and in the end they both forgot the coffee and gulped down the "Irish" alone, which lead to the following conversation:

"Stop denying it, brat! You want him. End of story!"

"I don't want him! DAMN IT!" Romano shouted, loud enough that America himself heard him. "And, _anyway_, you are the one to talk! Will you ever make up your fucking mind?! Who the fuck do you want?"

"Fuck you! I want no one!" England shouted, "Go and tell Spain you love him instead! God knows you need to…!"

"Don't you even dare say it!"

So, drunk as he was, Romano thanked (in his own unique way) England for the hospitality and walked away from the other nation.

And then bumped into Netherlands, who said nothing, and Belgium, who did say something, but Romano was too drunk to remember.

(He swore he heard the verb 'tell' and the word 'Spain', though).

So he passed out in front of Germany's house, who took him in, just because he was Feliciano's brother and he wasn't in the mood to hear North Italy's laments for the time being. He was woken up by a dog licking his face and someone laughing at him (Kesesesese. How ridiculous is that?).

"You didn't tell Spain yet?" and Romano swore he wouldn't mind not hearing that raucous voice eve again, "Man up! It's obvious how much you want him!"

Romano's headache refrained him from punching the albino's nose, so he blurted out the most intelligent thing he could say right then:

"How…?"

"You were talking in your sleep."

"FUCK!"

"Why don't you tell him, Romano? It will surely made Spain happy." Germany said suddenly appearing from the kitchen, and Romano decided that the best way to show his gratitude was to get the hell out of that house.

So he did and ended up to Poland.

"It's like, totally obvious!"

Which led to Russia:

"It's not good to keep your feelings in~"

Which led to Belarus:

"Marry me, brother!"

Which led _straight_ to Greece:

"Maybe the best… way to tell him is… to strip in front of him? Sex is always… nice, no?"

Which led to Turkey:

"You so need to get laid, lad! You need to tell him!"

Which led to a lot of other countries that had nothing better to do that encourage him to tell Spain that Romano… well, whatever… him.

"Maybe if you just cooked for him, aru?"

"I believe you must do what you believe its right."

"Don't be a bludger and just tell him! Give the bloke a fair go!"

"Hey, Romano! Did you scream 'damn it' some hours ago? I swear it was you…"

Lovino couldn't believe how crazy the word was. No one minded their own business and everyone had something to tell him, spitting out nonsense without thinking it over at all. Romano couldn't take it anymore and he was sure it was Feliciano the one, who told everyone that Lovino… well, whatever… Spain. Even if he couldn't understand how Feliciano managed to do so in just a couple of hours.

So lost in his thoughts Lovino didn't realize he was heading straight to Spain until he came face to face with worried green eyes.

"Romano?"

"Ah! Err… I…" Lovino blushed, looked down and then looked up again. Spain smiled at him, keys in the right hand and stretching the left one to him.

"I thought you wanted pizza tonight!" Spain said, taking Lovino's hand in his and pulling him closer. "Why did you run away?"

"I didn't-!" Lovino tried to free himself from Spain's grasp, but then realized that he felt quite comfortable like this, feeling Antonio's warmth so close to his own body… "I… well, whatever! Bastard! I just wanted to…!"

"Lovi, can I ask you something first?" Spain suddenly asked, looking down straight into hazel eyes.

"W-what?"

"Are you avoiding me?"

"I… I! That's ridiculous! Why would I avoid you, idiot?"

"Oh, good!" Spain said, suddenly relieved. "I thought you didn't love me anymore and wanted to tell me you didn't want to see me again. That's ridiculous, right?" Spain started to laugh, unaware of the effect his words did on Romano.

Lovino was petrified.

He suddenly stilled in Antonio's arms and wondered if it was an alright thing to kick himself then. Did Antonio know? Had he always know?

"Lovi? Are you alright?"

"I… I… you… well, whatever…"

"I know, Lovi!" Spain grinned, "Why would I take you out now if I didn't know?"

Lovino was tempted to head-butt him again and then wondered how much Antonio knew what he was saying.

(But then again, Spain did take him out sometimes, he did pay for Lovino's meal more than once, he did like to give him gifts when it wasn't needed, they did share the bed more than once and, maybe, that time they passionately kissed on the couch hadn't been an accident after all…)

"I'm starving, Spain!" Romano shouted then, trying to hid his blush and squeezing (just a little more) Spain's hand.

"Me too!" Spain said and they started walking together to the pizzeria Spain just knew Lovino so much adored.

Lovino supposed he could try another time to tell Spain how much he… well, whatever… him, but he sure couldn't wait another three hundred years (plus five months and seven days) to kiss Spain senseless as soon as they returned home…

Maybe.

_The end. _


End file.
